Vulnerable
by JustKeepWalking
Summary: What if Fitz decided to use the knife for what it was meant to be used for?
1. Original

**This hurt so much to write but it was screaming at me to be done. **

Even though everything was moving so fast in reality, through Eli's eyes, it was like a dream.

Fitz's hand was coming at him like a bullet, yet Eli saw every small detail; the glint of blue and red police lights on the blade, the arrogant smirk that plastered itself upon Fitz's face, and the movement of something - _someone _- beside him. He could hear the pounding of his own heart as Clare suddenly appeared in front of him, her arms stretched out on either side to create a wall between the hungry knife and his own body. With the most sickening sound he ever heard, the knife took the wrong victim.

Clare fell backwards against him, her arms flying to the place where the knife entered her body. She didn't make a noise; all Eli heard was a quiet, small gasp. One of shock, surprise, and pain. He held her there in his arms, and the sound of his heartbeat became louder and louder. Every part of him began to tremble, and looking up at Fitz with disbelief seemed to take so much energy. The other boy's face was absent of the dirty smirk it had held only moment before. Now it was twisted into an expression of astonishment and guilt. Fitz took two steps backwards, his eyes on Clare's limp body, before whipping around to sprint down the hall.

Eli sunk slowly to the ground, bringing Clare with him. His hands were wrapped around her waist, holding her as close to him as he could. Her breathing was shallow and ragged; each inhale hurt Eli just as much as it hurt Clare herself. He could feel her blood dripping from her stomach down to his fingers. It was hot and sticky, and the smell made him sick. He buried his face in her soft red hair, and it took all he had to keep from breaking into sobs.

"Clare," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Clare, please…"

As carefully as he could, he laid her across his lap, so that her head was cradled in his arms. Her face was as white as a sheet, her eyes flickering between open and closed. Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks, and at that moment, Eli swore his heart ripped in two. She still had her hands at her stomach, where the small switchblade was protruding like a nasty thorn. There was a fire behind Eli's eyes as he looked at her like this. Clare. His sweet, innocent, beautiful Clare.

He brought a hand up to brush a curl away from her face, letting it linger on her clammy cheek.

"Look at me, Clare," he told her quietly, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. "Don't close your eyes, please." He wiped away new tears that were forming at her eyes, which were beginning to open. He stared into those blue depths and it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. Soon, he was crying, tears escaping from his eyes, falling to mix with the blood on Clare's dress. His shoulders shook as he wept, and he'd never felt so vulnerable in his life.

Eli's sobs stopped abruptly as Clare slowly lifted a blood-covered hand to his face, sliding a finger under his eye to catch a falling tear. "Eli," she whispered, her lips barely moving. He took her hand as it began to slip back down and pressed it against his cheek, like it was the only thing he could do to save her.

"Don't leave me, Clare," he murmured, squeezing her hand tight. "You can't leave me, not now."

Clare opened her mouth to speak, but not a sound escaped her lips. She only looked up at him, her gaze soft like it always was.

He didn't know how many times he said her name. Not once did he break his gaze away from hers, holding her hand tight against his cheek, pressing his lips to it again and again. His heart still pounded like a drum, hard and heavy against his ribcage. He barely noticed when two police officers rounded the corner.

One of them spoke urgently into his radio, and the other knelt down beside Eli, bringing a hand to his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, yet still refused to take his eyes away from Clare's face.

"Come on, son," she said quietly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "She needs help." The officer looked over her shoulder at her companion and said something about an ambulance.

At the words, Eli's arms tightened around Clare, more tears falling from his eyes. "Don't take her away from me," he replied, his voice strangled and tense. "Please."

Suddenly, Clare's voice was floating towards him, making his heart skip a beat.

"Eli."

He met her blue eyes and his stomach lurched.

"I love you, Eli."

Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her, long and careful. She didn't kiss him back, but he didn't expect her to. All he wanted was to feel her lips against his, the lips that had just told him that she loved him. Pulling back, Eli let out a ragged sigh.

"God, Clare," he whispered. "I love you."

More people were suddenly in the hall; medics with a stretcher, more police officers, Mr. Simpson, and even Adam, who attempted to rush towards his friends, but Simpson caught him quickly by the arm and pulled him back.

The medics moved forward and laid the stretcher carefully on the ground in front of Eli, who looked up. One of the medics met his gaze sympathetically, and he slowly brought his arms away from Clare's body so that she could be placed on the stretcher. The last thing Eli released was Clare's bloody hand, and the abrupt absence of it in his made more tears sting his eyes.

At last, Simpson let Adam go. The smaller boy came to stop before Eli, holding out a hand to help his friend to his feet. Eli merely leaned back against the blue metal locker, taking a deep breath.

"I thought you were dead, man," Adam said, slipping the beanie off his head and running a hand through his brown hair. "I thought you _both_ were."

Eli didn't respond, but watched as the medics rolled Clare down the hall and disappeared out of the closest door. Adam followed Eli gaze and brought a hand to the dark-haired boy's shoulder.

The two stood there motionless, tuning out the rushing world around them.

**Was the ending too abrupt? I didn't want to make it a happy ending. ^_^ UGH THIS TURNED OUT THE WRONG WAY I THINK. Oh well. **


	2. Edited alternate

**I was so dissatisfied with last half of the one I put up earlier, so I had to redo it. I rushed it this morning and it didn't turn out the way I wanted it! Hopefully this is better. **

Even though everything was moving so fast in reality, through Eli's eyes, it was like a dream.

Fitz's hand was coming at him like a bullet, yet Eli saw every small detail; the glint of blue and red police lights on the blade, the arrogant smirk that plastered itself upon Fitz's face, and the movement of something - _someone _- beside him. He could hear the pounding of his own heart as Clare suddenly appeared in front of him, her arms stretched out on either side to create a wall between the hungry knife and his own body. With the most sickening sound he ever heard, the knife took the wrong victim.

Clare fell backwards against him, her arms flying to the place where the knife entered her body. She didn't make a noise; all Eli heard was a quiet, small gasp. One of shock, surprise, and pain. He held her there in his arms, and the sound of his heartbeat became louder and louder. Every part of him began to tremble, and looking up at Fitz with disbelief seemed to take so much energy. The other boy's face was absent of the dirty smirk it had held only moment before. Now it was twisted into an expression of astonishment and guilt. Fitz took two steps backwards, his eyes on Clare's limp body, before whipping around to sprint down the hall.

Eli sunk slowly to the ground, bringing Clare with him. His hands were wrapped around her waist, holding her as close to him as he could. Her breathing was shallow and ragged; each inhale hurt Eli just as much as it hurt Clare herself. He could feel her blood dripping from her stomach down to his fingers. It was hot and sticky, and the smell made him sick. He buried his face in her soft red hair, and it took all he had to keep from breaking into sobs.

"Clare," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Clare, please…"

As carefully as he could, he laid her across his lap, so that her head was cradled in his arms. Her face was as white as a sheet, her eyes half-open. Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks, and at that moment, Eli swore he felt his heart ripped in two. She still had her hands at her stomach, where the small switchblade was protruding like a nasty thorn. There was a fire behind Eli's eyes as he looked at her like this. Clare. His sweet, innocent, beautiful Clare.

He brought a hand up to brush a curl away from her face, letting it linger on her clammy cheek.

"Look at me, Clare," he told her quietly, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. "Don't close your eyes." He wiped away new tears that were forming at her eyes, which were beginning to open. He stared into those blue depths and it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. And he was crying, tears escaping from his eyes, falling to mix with the blood on Clare's dress. His shoulders shook as he wept; he'd never felt such pain in his life.

Eli's sobs stopped abruptly as Clare slowly lifted a blood-covered hand to his face, sliding a finger under his eye to catch a falling tear. He took her hand as it began to slip back down and pressed it against his cheek. He could feel the blood on her hands smearing on his face, but it didn't matter now; it was everywhere, spilling freely to the floor.

"I am so sorry," he murmured, squeezing her hand tight.

Unexpectedly, Clare laughed. It was a strangled, dull sound, but it was music to his ears. "Eli," she whispered. Her voice sounded distant and thin, yet she seemed to know exactly what she was saying. "I love you."

The words made Eli's head spin with relief and passion, even though the fear from the before was still making everything feel numb.

"God, Clare," he said softly. "I love _you_." And with that, he leaned down to press his lips into hers, running the fingers of his clean hand through her hair. She barely kissed him back, but Eli didn't want her to. He just wanted to know that she was still here, still his. She'd told him the one thing he'd been longing to hear since the moment he'd first kissed her, in the park by the school, when they were filming for their English project on Romeo and Juliet. Memories from that beautiful day rushed back to him, and fresh tears began to run down his face.

He didn't know how many times he said her name after he pulled his lips away from hers. Not once did he break his gaze away from her, holding her hand against his cheek, pressing his lips to it again and again. Her eyes bored into him, though they had a thin glaze that suggested she wasn't really seeing him. His heart still pounded like a drum, hard and heavy against his ribcage. The sound of it seemed to echo through his entire being, rattling his body like a weak branch in the wind.

At one point in time, Clare's eyes fell closed completely. The shallowness of her breathing increased, and Eli was suddenly hit hard with reality. As if on cue, he heard frantic voices coming from down the hallway, and he swung his head around to see a police officer and Mr. Simpson sprinting towards him, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off of the metal lockers.

"Eli!" Simpson gasped, kneeling down beside him in the dark. "Eli, what happened?" Eli could only hold Clare's hand tighter against his face. He knew if he tried to speak, only pathetic cries would emerge. He heard the police officer speak urgently into his radio, and mere moments later, more footsteps echoed throughout the hallway. Eli glanced up again and saw three people hurrying towards them, rolling a stretcher along with them.

"No," Eli protested as the medics attempted to move Clare's body from its place in his lap. "No, you can't take her away from me!"

Suddenly, strong hands were holding his arms down as more hands lifted Clare onto the stretcher. The weight lifted off of his lap only made Eli feel emptier, more vulnerable. He struggled against the hands that held him, and try as he might, he couldn't free himself from them. He could only struggle to his feet at an attempt to follow the stretcher down the hall. Simpson had one arm, the officer had the other, and Eli tried again to break free.

"Clare!" he shouted, violently trying to shake off the older men's grips. "Don't you leave me, Clare!" His own voice sounded unfamiliar as it resonated through the hall. "Not now." His shouts had been reduced to a worn out whisper, and he finally surrendered to the exhaustion that was taking over his body.

Feeling numb, he watched as the door down the hall closed with a quiet _swoosh_.

"I love you."

**Sad enough? MEH?  
I just can't bring myself to actually state that Clare died... if she really did. You decide. I'm going to sleep. **


End file.
